


Record Scratch

by DinerGuy, OllieCollie, truthtakestime



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Dramatics, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, except there's not much comfort unless you count banter and harassment, implausible acrobatics, the White Knight was not harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-01 22:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieCollie/pseuds/OllieCollie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthtakestime/pseuds/truthtakestime
Summary: "I need a favor. And unlike your 'favors,' this one won't even get you shot at."Rick really meant it when he'd said that; he did. It was just the two jokers with the gun who had a different idea.





	Record Scratch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally titled, "A Story on a Train," as we wrote this fic over the course of 2 days' worth of train rides. We had lots of fun writing this one; we hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply.

"Hey, Thomas, buddy, what are you doing tonight?" Rick kept his tone as casual as possible despite the fact that it was the wee hours of the morning when most people were sound asleep.

_ "I mean, I'm actually doing some research for a case right now—" _

"Yeah, that's great." Rick cleared his throat. "So you know how I am always having to leave my actual profitable employment to come and help you with your crap? Well, now it's time for you to pay up. I need a favor. And unlike _ your _ 'favors,' this one won't even get you shot at."

He could practically hear Magnum rolling his eyes. That was fine. After the sort of stuff that Rick put up with, inconveniencing his friend for one night was perfectly justified.

_ "Well, how can I argue with a pitch like that?" _

"Great." _ Yes! _ "I'm closing tonight, so I need you to come over to the club. I'll fill you in then. See you in twenty?" Rick hung up the phone before Magnum had a chance to ask any more questions and grinned to himself. Well, that was one problem down at least. 

Explaining to his friend what he needed him to do once Thomas had arrived at the club was a different problem entirely. He was already having second thoughts about actually letting Magnum behind the counter, but desperate times called for desperate measures. So Rick just sighed and rubbed the back of his neck and forged on with his plan.

"Look, man, you know I wouldn't ask you for something if I didn't really need it. And I really need this." He leveled a look at his friend. "It's not even for two hours, but Kaleigh went home sick, and I need a second pair of hands to close up."

"Okay… so what is it you want me to do, exactly?"

"Just… you know"—Rick gestured vaguely—"customer service."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Rick, I'm a private investigator, not a bartender. I have no experience with customer service!"

"Oh, right, right. Mr. Private Investigator, I'm _ so _sorry. Maybe cleaning the bathrooms would be more in your wheelhouse. My bad."

"You know, on second thought," Thomas interrupted, "customer service sounds _ great._ I'll go man the bar right now."

Rick smirked to himself as his friend hurried away. "I wasn't kidding about the bathrooms though!" he called after the retreating figure.

An hour later, Rick was counting out the till in preparation for the bank deposit. The night had actually gone better than expected, all things considered. Thomas wasn't the best bartender Rick had ever employed, but he hadn't been the worst, and at least it hadn't cost Rick anything.

He vaguely registered the door opening, followed by Thomas's voice behind him. "Uh, hey, Rick—"

"Not now, Magnum, I'm busy." Rick continued counting. "Have you finished the bathrooms yet?"

"Uh, not quite, but, Rick—"

There was something odd in Thomas's tone that made Rick glance up in concern.

_"Woah. _ Okay." _ That _was not what he was expecting.

His friend was standing halfway across the room, hands raised at his sides. Behind him were two masked men, one with a weapon pointed directly at Thomas. Almost as an instinctive reaction, Rick quickly closed the register drawer.

Thomas shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Rick. They got the jump on me when I was taking out the trash." He glanced down at a wet spot on his shirt and wrinkled his nose. "That is definitely garbage juice."

"Shut up!" the gunman growled. He motioned at Rick. "Look, just hand over the money, and we're gone."

"Uh, sorry, no can do." Rick knew the smart thing to do was just to do as he'd been told; that was the club-manager response. But there was a part of him that knew he and Thomas had faced down guns before, from worse guys than just happy-go-lucky robbers. If anyone could get out of this and save the club's earnings, it would be the two of them.

"Do you want me to shoot your employee here?" the guy snarled, waving the gun for emphasis before turning it once again to point at Thomas's head. "Because I will if you don't do as I say!"

"Technically, he isn't exactly my employee." Rick ignored the look Thomas shot at him. "Yeah, he's just some schmuck who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Hey! Is that any way to talk about your best friend?" Thomas snapped. But the twitch of his head towards the gunman was clear to Rick as a cue for what he was planning. "After all the good times we had in Walakan, you would just hang me out to dry like that?"

There had been _ zero _ good times in Walakan; just an op that they really shouldn't have walked away from. But the situation had started kind of like this little holdup…

Rick got the message. "Oh yeah, sure, _ some _ of us had a great time," he snorted. "I remember some of us were doing the heavy lifting while one guy got to just sit back and sip his drinks."

"Hey!" Clearly, the man had had enough of Rick's stalling. "I don't care _ whose _ best friend he is or what the heck you did in Walakaka or wherever; I care about my money. And I really don't think that you're taking this seriously." His gun came down hard on Thomas's head, and suddenly Rick was not so optimistic about the outcome of this situation.

Thomas fell forward with a pained yelp, barely managing to catch himself on the tile floor before slumping the rest of the way. Although Rick was pretty sure his friend was still conscious, Thomas also seemed in no hurry to get up. Which was fair. That blow had looked painful. Either way, he wasn't about to draw attention to the fact. 

"You have _ ten _seconds to get us that money, or things get worse for your buddy here." The gunman glanced back at his partner, who hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange. 

Following the guy's gaze, Rick noticed how nervous the second robber appeared. His mask hid his expression, but his eyes gave him away. They were darting from Rick to the front door to Thomas to his friend and then back again. Yeah, this was no career criminal.

"Okay, okay." Rick fumbled with the till, taking his time while racking his brain for a way out.

The second robber stepped forward and tossed a black duffel bag at Rick. "Fill it up," he barked. They were the first words Rick had heard the man speak, and he thought he detected a wavering edge to the guy's voice.

Before Rick had a chance to respond or react, the wail of distant sirens filled the air. The demeanor of both thugs changed in an instant. 

"They called the _ cops?"_ the second guy gasped, rushing over to the front window and peering out.

"Pressing the alarm was a real stupid move!" the gunman yelled at Rick, bringing his gun around to underscore his words.

Rick didn't have time to explain he _ hadn't _ called the cops before Thomas made his move. He swung his leg around, catching the gunman in the shins and knocking him off balance.

A shot fired off, going wild and breaking one of the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. Rick ducked and then rushed around the counter toward the second robber who was just turning from his place at the window, thinking to incapacitate the guy before he could pull a weapon.

Meanwhile, behind Rick, another shot rang through the room, followed immediately by a sound that Rick had heard too many times in his life. It was the pained grunt of someone getting shot. His heart dropped because he knew exactly who the moan belonged to.

_ Magnum. _

_"Don't. _Move!" The gunman sounded shaken, but his voice was commanding. 

Rick raised his hands slowly. In front of him, the second robber's eyes widened. 

"Dude, what did you _ do? _" he hissed. "You said no one was gonna get hurt!"

The gunman huffed. "Yeah, well, I didn't count on these idiots. Turn around real slow," he muttered, the last demand directed at Rick.

The club owner obeyed, more out of wanting to check on his friend than doing as this crazy guy said. His gaze settled on Thomas, and he winced. Was it bad that his first thought was how much work it was going to take to clean the blood off the floor? He hoped that was his subconscious's way of telling him the wound wasn't as severe as it appeared and that everything would be fine. Rick wasn't sure he could handle it otherwise.

"I _ told _ you this would happen." He still sounded a little less in control than he had at first. "Now, don't make it worse and give us the cash!"

The sirens outside grew louder as Rick ignored the order and moved forward to kneel beside Thomas.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

Rick turned to fix the gunman with a stare. "Look, you hear those sirens? You're not getting out of this, so you might as well be concerned if both of your hostages survive; otherwise, you're looking at murder charges, and I'm pretty sure you don't want that. So can you just let me check on my friend here and stop pointing that gun at us?" Never mind that those sirens were very likely not headed to the club. Rick would use them to his advantage while he could.

"Shut up!" The gunman glanced worriedly toward the window.

"Hey, Thomas, buddy. How you feeling?" Rick asked, quickly assessing the other man's injury.

Thomas had his right hand clenched over his left bicep, just under the sleeve of his red Hawaiian print shirt. Blood was leaking from between his fingers, and he grimaced as Rick gently tried to move his hand for a better look.

"I'll be fine," he said through clenched teeth. "We need to take this guy down before he gets any more upset."

They both glanced toward the gunman, who had moved slightly toward the door where the other robber was still peering out. The pistol was still firmly in his grasp, and Rick doubted he could rush the guy without getting shot himself.

"We need a distraction," he whispered, turning back to Thomas.

"I'm sorry, _ what?"_

"A distraction. You need to do something really dramatic and keep their attention for a minute."

"Okay." Thomas paused for a second. "Why?"

"I have a shotgun behind the bar. I just need to get to it, and I can probably convince this guy to put his down."

His friend raised an eyebrow. "In case you didn't notice, I'm kind of _ shot _right now."

"Right. Which is why _ you _ make the distraction while _ I _go for the gun at the bar. It's literally right behind us," Rick replied. "It's a foolproof plan!"

The look on Thomas's face told Rick what he thought of _ that,_ but to his credit, he didn't waste time arguing. "Ow!" he yelled loudly, flopping his good arm out on the floor and moaning. _"Ow,_ you shot me! I'm shot, I'm shot! I think I'm dying! Rick, man, tell my mother I love her!" 

Both robbers had whirled around by this point, trying to make sense of the man flailing around on the floor.

"Not me!" Rick hissed with a meaningful look at their captors, who didn't seem to be sure what to do with this new development. "Them!"

"I can't believe _ you _ guys shot me!" he continued dramatically. "I get faint at the sight of blood, you know. I'm feeling lightheaded! And you should probably know that I have this weird seizure condition…" 

While Thomas was carrying on and keeping the bad guys' attention fixed on him, Rick glanced back at the bar and mentally pictured where the gun was hidden behind several assorted bottles of stock. He glanced at the others again, took a deep breath, and then launched himself backward.

With a move that an Olympic gymnast would be proud of, he backflipped over the counter and landed perfectly on the other side. The shotgun, thankfully, was right where he'd left it, and he yanked it out and popped up to his feet.

In one smooth motion, he braced the stock against his shoulder, pumped a round into the chamber, and brought the weapon to bear on the two stunned robbers before they could even—

** _ *record scratch* _ **

"Now hold on just a minute," Higgins interrupted, disbelief plain on her face. "Do you mean to tell me that _ this _ man perfectly executed gymnastic feats over a four-foot bar, retrieved the weapon, and had it ready to fire in under six seconds?"

Magnum and Rick exchanged a glance. 

"Well, that's how I remember it."

"Yeah, pretty much."

She raised an eyebrow. "This is reality, gentlemen, not a bloody White Knight novel."

"Well, yeah, if it was, then _ T.M. _ would have been the one flipping over the bar."

"With the bullet in my arm," Magnum added helpfully. "And Rick shaking in the corner like a scared kid."

Rick muttered something incoherent and stuck his tongue out at Magnum, who shrugged until it pulled his stitches and then winced.

Higgins rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything further, there was a knock at the half-open door of the hospital room. Katsumoto popped his head in.

"Hey, come on in, Detective," Magnum called in greeting.

Accepting the invitation, Katsumoto stepped inside and nodded to the others in greeting. "Magnum, Rick, I need to get your statements on what happened at the club this morning," he said. "And I'm going to need access to the club's security footage," he added, looking at Rick.

Rick nodded. "I'll have to go back to the club to send you a copy of the video file, but I can pull it up on my phone if you want to see it now."

"Oh, we'd definitely like to see it now." Higgins grinned. "I would like proof of your daring feats of athleticism."

Katsumoto nodded. "That would be helpful, although I will still need a hard copy."

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Rick tapped at the screen to access the club's security system. A few seconds later, he had the right segment queued up. He pressed 'Play' and turned the device so the others could see the video.

The scene played out in slightly grainy silence. Thomas walked in, hands raised, flanked by the two masked robbers. There were words exchanged, and everyone watching winced when the gunman pistol-whipped Thomas and sent him tumbling to the floor.

A moment later, the footage showed both robbers clearly distracted by Thomas, Rick leaped to his feet and sprang across the bar. "Sprang" being used only in the loosest definition of the word. 

Rick raised an eyebrow. It had certainly looked _ much _ cooler in person. In the replay, even he had to admit he looked more like a fish out of water as his initial leap only took him halfway across the bar top, leaving him to pull himself the rest of the way before he managed to roll over the other side and land with the visual equivalent of a less-than-graceful _ thunk. _On the ground in front of the bar, Thomas continued to flail around emphatically.

"Oh dear," Higgins murmured, hand on her chest as she watched. Horror and amusement chased each other across her features. 

Rick _ wanted _to be offended, but she'd basically voiced his own thoughts on the matter—albeit with more tact and less cursing—so he didn't say anything. From his spot in the bed, Magnum rolled his eyes.

"You two should be glad you weren't facing off against career criminals," Katsumoto commented, shaking his head. It appeared the detective was trying his utmost to hide a smirk. "Turned out to just be a couple of local kids looking to make a quick buck."

"Awful lot of bucks." Rick frowned. "But still a pretty dumb reason to ruin their lives. Haven't kids these days ever heard of getting a _ job?_ Speaking of," he added as a thought occurred to him, _"__you _still owe me a favor, Tommy old pal."

Thomas managed to look appropriately offended at the notion. "You know, suddenly, I feel very faint." 

Higgins eyed him. "Weren't you _ just _trying to convince the nurse you were feeling quite well enough to be discharged this morning?"

He frowned pitifully. "I relapsed."

"Well, _ someone _needs to clean the blood off my club floor," Rick insisted.

"And that's _ my _fault?"

"Well, it is _ your _ blood."

"That sounds like a binding legal agreement to me," Katsumoto said with a smirk. "You can mop with one arm, right?"

Thomas turned his mournful eyes on Higgins in hopes that she would throw some sympathy his way. 

"Don't look at me," she objected, lifting her hands. "I had nothing to do with this debacle."

"You guys are jerks," Thomas muttered pitifully. 

"Oh, come on, T.M.; you know we love you," Rick said, softening just a little. Not enough to clean the floor himself, of course, but enough to give his friend a pat on his uninjured shoulder. "I appreciate you taking the bullet on this one, man."

Thomas's eyes widened in realization at the comment. "Hey, wait a second; you promised me that this favor _ wouldn't _ get me shot!"

Oh, right. He had said that, hadn't he?

Higgins jumped in then. "This from the man who continually prefaces his requests for favors with words like, 'Just this once,' or 'I promise I'll never bother you again if you just help me out this once'?" She lifted an eyebrow.

"She has a point, Magnum," Katsumoto agreed. 

As Rick listened to his friends going back and forth, he couldn't help but smile. He did feel really guilty about Thomas having gotten shot while helping out at the club, but the man _ was _ dishing out the banter as much as he was receiving it, which reassured Rick that things weren't _ too _bad. The whole situation could have turned out much, much worse, but it hadn't. They had both survived to tell the tale—albeit maybe not an exactly accurate tale, but that was just semantics.


End file.
